I Want to Forget
by silvernatasha
Summary: For the second time in as many years, George has forgotten Hermione's birthday. How does he make it up to her? GeHr. One shot.


_Despite the fact that my username now reads 'silverphoenix3' for some reason, I am still the same old me. After over a year without any new fics, I present this lil' one-shot Ge/Hr, which I shall, of course, dedicate to all the lovely shippers over at the S.S. Dungbombs & S.P.E.W. If you ship Ge/Hr you should head over to FictionAlley Park; we have GummyGeorges! This ficlet was inspired by a question over at FAP about what would happen if George forgot Hermione's birthday two years in a row. Enjoy._

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**I WANT TO FORGET   
A George/Hermione Ficlet**

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"I thought it was your day off? What are you doing here?"

When the bell on the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had chimed, Fred Weasley had looked up from where he was putting up a new display of Skiving Snackboxes, thinking that it was a customer. Instead, the sight of the firm's accountant and creative analyst (a title she had bestowed upon herself), Hermione Granger, greeted him.

"It is, but I left a few rolls of parchment here. I was hoping to get a good look at them while I was at home."

"You shouldn't be working on your day off," Fred told her. "Especially today," he added as an afterthought.

"What I choose to do on my day off is of no concern of yours," she told him sharply as she walked behind the counter. She ducked down, and Fred heard the sound of rolls of parchment being shifted around. Emerging a couple of seconds later, Hermione placed several rolls into her bag. "I'll be off, then," she announced, tucking her hair behind her ear. She gave him a small smile. "See you tomorrow, Fred."

"Don't you want to see George before you go?" he suggested.

"Not particularly."

With a swish of bushy brown hair and the tinkling of the bell, she was gone. Her last remark and her stony expression at the mention of George had stunned Fred. George and Hermione had been together for well over a year now, and spent every spare minute together. Fred had even jokingly suggested that it was because the two of them that he'd had to move out of the flat he had shared with George when Hermione had moved in. Why wouldn't she want to see him?

Unless… oh no. He hadn't, had he? On second thoughts, he probably had. And not for the first time.

Temporarily flipping over the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed', Fred wandered down the stairs to the cellar. A timely explosion signalled that George was working on the new product that he had dubbed 'The Mark II'. Whatever 'The Mark I' had been, Fred had no idea, but George promised him that it was be a big seller.

"Is that you, Fred?" George called through the purple smoke.

"Yeah. Just thought I'd check up on how you're getting on." Fred paused, wafting away the smoke with his arm as he walked forwards. "Hermione just popped in and I was wondering what you got her."

George looked up, pushing the protective goggles he was wearing up onto his forehead. The explosion had turned his face blue, save for where the goggles had protected his skin. "For what?"

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forgot what?"

"And for the second year running!"

"I've forgotten something before?" Perplexed by this conversation, George looked at Fred oddly. What on Earth was his twin talking about?

"You have no idea what I'm on about?" Fred was in a state of disbelief.

"Not a word. Does it have anything to do with the dungbombs I forgot to order? Because I just remembered that. I'll order them this afternoon."

"Not quite, although I did want to talk to you about that. Think about what today is."

"Tuesday?" he asked, glancing up at the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes 'Joke of the Month' calendar that was hanging on the wall.

"Yes, but that's not the answer I was looking for."

"Right. Okay." he looked again at the calendar, more specifically at the scribbled note beneath the day's date. His face fell in realisation and he felt like he had been hit in the stomach. "Oh no. I didn't, did I?" he asked urgently. "Not two years running."

"You did," Fred confirmed, trying not to groan in frustration. "You forgot her birthday."

George practically slapped himself, leaving the palm of his hand blue. "What am I going to do?" he asked dismally. "Last year she forgave me because we'd only been going out for a couple of months, but this year… there's no excuse, is there?"

"Not really."

"What am I going to do?" George repeated, his tone becoming desolate as he absently scratched his ear.

"I dunno, but you should probably do something good because she wasn't looking too happy just now."

"On a scale of one to ten how mad did she look?"

"She didn't even want to say 'hello' to you."

George paled considerably at this, making his freckles stand out even more than normal. "That bad? Oh dear." He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. "What am I going to do?"

"Just because you keep asking that doesn't mean that I'll be able to answer you."

"There's something I've been meaning to do for a while, and I thought that it would be good to do on her birthday," George started, beginning to pace, "but I forgot it was her birthday _today_, so if I do it now, she'll think that I'm only doing it _because_ I forgot… am I making any sense?"

"Not a word."

"I'm going to do it," George announced.

"It?" echoed Fred. "It it?" he asked, pulling a face.

"No!" For a moment, George looked thoughtful. "Although maybe later…" He shook himself, straightening up. Wrenching the goggles from his head, George threw them down on the workbench. "No. I can't think of that now. I'm going to do it," he declared, face set in determination and setting off towards the stairs that led up to the shop.

"Erm, George," started Fred. He gestured towards his face. "You might want to get cleaned up a bit first." Scowling, George continued on his way as he fished a surprisingly clean white handkerchief from his pocket.

Two hours later, his palms sweating and heart racing, George ventured into the kitchen of the flat that he shared with Hermione. She had her back to him, and was at the sink filling up the kettle. "Morning," he said quietly. Hearing his voice, she slammed the kettle down on the stove, prodding at it with her wand. She responded to his greeting in a forced tone.

"You're pretending that's my head, aren't you?"

"You said it, not me." She cast a stony glare at him over her shoulder before giving the kettle another prod with her wand. "Is there something you were wanting?

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

She responded to this question with a question of her own: "Do you really need me to tell you that?"

"I suppose not."

With magical help, the kettle began to spout steam and Hermione removed it from the stove, placing it on a trivet. Hermione turned around and, for a moment, George thought he could see tears glittering in her eyes. "I have nothing to say to you at the moment, George."

"I know, and I don't blame you." He bit his lip, trying to sort out what he was going to say next. "So I'm going to talk instead," he said as Hermione reached for a mug.

"I can't say that I'll be listening," she told him shortly, pulling the box of teabags closer to her. She plucked one from the box and dropped it into her mug, not bothering with a teapot.

"I had a feeling you'd say that, so I'll speak quickly; I want to forget your birthday _next_ year."

"You're really not helping your case." Hermione poured the boiling water from the kettle into the mug and began to stir it with the end of her wand. She stirred it a little too violently, however, and hot liquid splashed over the edge. "Perhaps I should tattoo my date of birth onto your forehead? Backwards, of course, so you can read it in the mirror."

George ignored her, carrying on with what he was saying. "I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, and I intended to do it today, but then I forgot that today was, well, _today_. So, Hermione, I want to forget your birthday next and the year after, and the year after that and the year after that. I want to forget your thirtieth birthday. I want to forget your fortieth birthday. I want to forget your _seventieth_ birthday."

Hermione seemed to freeze. She spun around, face slackened into an expression of uncertainty. "Wh-what are you doing, George? What are you saying? Because I think, I mean, _are_ you? George, are you trying to…? Because I think that I'm going to…" She took a tentative step towards him, her half-made cup of tea forgotten. The fact that Hermione wasn't entirely coherent almost made George laugh. Almost. However, he restrained himself, taking a deep breath.

"Say 'yes'?" he offered, assuming the tradition position; down on one knee. He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. She was looking at him with a look that he could only describe as a mixture of horror and amazement. For a fleeting moment, George wondered if this was a good idea. It was only for a moment, though.

"Marry me?"

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_Review, Flame, Whatever. (It's been a long time since I've written that!)_

_silverphoenix_


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